


Strength

by FluffKills



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora needs to love herself, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Dysphoria, F/F, Fitness Model Adora, Love Confessions, body image issues, dancer catra, implied eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffKills/pseuds/FluffKills
Summary: Adora hustles every day of her life. She has so much, followers, sponsors, a career as a fitness model and sometimes trainer. But she can't stop wishing she had Catra's strength. How can she compete when her friend is so naturally perfect and everything Adora can't be?
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 158





	Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the weekly LIMAMIL server writing prompt. This week's was "I want you to know what makes me strong"  
> /"You never told me what it is that made you strong". The last few hadn't spoken to me but this inspired a tight one-shot that I hope satisfies.

“Taking another sponsorship? You fucking sellout.” Adora looks up and frowns, waving at her roommate to be quiet. She turns her attention back to the woman on the phone with her. 

“No, sorry, that was just my roommate being loud. Yes, I’m interested, send me the stuff… ah, yep, I got the email it looks like.” She waits as her agent explains that they need a finalization on this quickly. “No, that’s fine, I’ll go over it and get it back to you tonight. Thanks!” She exchanges her farewells and sighs, putting her cell down. 

Adora Grey leans back on the couch and closes her eyes. It’s exhausting keeping up with hustling herself, and her work, and her workout routine, and it wasn’t helped by her oh-so-supportive childhood friend and cohabitor. The cohabitor who was currently, from the smell of it, making herself something extremely unhealthy and fried in the kitchen. She cracks open one tired blue eye.

“Catra, can you _please_ just give me a break when I’m on the phone for business? Ms. Weber is going nuts trying to find me work and I don’t need her thinking I’m ungrateful.” There’s the sound of something frying being fiercely pressed down. 

Catrinka Acosta, or Catra as Adora had been calling her since kindergarten, calls back, “Yeah, heaven forfend Ms. Weber knows I don’t like her. The bitch.” The pair had met in a gymnastics class at the age where it was more about seeing chubby limbs keeping upright on a balance beam resting on the floor than any actual skill, but they’d both moved from strength to strength with that until somewhere in middle school. There, Adora’s aggressive and painful growth spurt left her too gangly and awkward, her body losing the build that made her good at floor routines. (Catra called the build ‘the arrested development’) But it pushed her into doing more rings and bars, and then finally into other sports as well. Catra stopped about then because, in her words, gymnastics was stupid, their teacher was a bitch, and she wanted to do dancing. Freestyle, not some dumb-ass ballet shit. 

It didn’t help that she’d told their teacher this to her face.

It certainly didn’t help that their teacher kept in touch with Adora in spite of all that, long after she’d moved on from their school, and now worked as her agent, uninterested in ‘the mediocre scions of the rich’ and instead focusing on Adora’s talent specifically. Which Adora was grateful for, of course. But it made things tense. She hadn't even dared tell Ms. Weber that Catra, aka 'That horrible girl', was her roommate.

“You want ham and cheese on yours or just tomato sauce?” Catra calls from the kitchen, and Adora groans.

“I don’t want anything! I shouldn’t be eating fried food, I need to keep to my diet.” she argues. “Some of us can’t eat whatever we want and stay a hundred pounds.”

“Tough shit, princess, I don’t give a fuck about your diet. And you can’t compare yourself to me, we’re entirely different builds, dumbass. I thought a couple years of college would have taught you that.” Adora can smell the scent of melted cheese, and sighs as her stomach growls. A minute later, Catra comes in and sits down beside her on the couch, passing her a plate. 

Catra wasn’t kidding about their different builds; while Adora had grown and then bulked up in ways she still wasn’t thrilled about, Catra had maintained the lithe build of a gymnast even without the punishing routines of their youth. Or a dancer’s build, Adora supposes. Her legs were slim but strong, her petite body tough while still looking feminine, with amazing curves that were just enough and accented every motion. Not that Adora looked, much. It was unfair that on top of all of that, she had perfect skin with a hint of freckles, the most amazing thick dark brown hair and bi-coloured eyes!

That last bit, Adora felt, was just ridiculous! One of Catra’s eyes was dark blue, the other was a hazel that looked golden. If someone wrote her into a story, no one would believe a woman that perfect existed. How could Adora’s butch, awkward, gains fat in the wrong places, pale as a ghost, basic dirty blonde ass compete with Catra? Trying to keep up was an exercise in futility. 

And the worst part was, Catra didn’t even seem to know, or care, how dumb Adora looked compared to her! I mean, yes, she insulted Adora’s dress sense and hairstyle, but she seemed to think Adora looked fine. 

“Earth to dumbass, you gonna eat it or let it get cold?” 

Adora blinks, and realizes she’s been staring. She blushes, and looks at the plate. It looks amazing. Another point for Catra, beyond her looks, was that she was a great cook. She tried to teach Adora this dish, a Milanesa, which was just a chicken parm by way of Argentina, really. After two fires, she gave up. Adora was fine on salads and shakes and powders and supplements anyways. At least there’s a salad with the fries and meat and cheese and sauce. She takes a bite. Yep, ham under there as well. 

“I’ll just have a bit of it,” she says, knowing she’s lying to herself. She can never stop from cleaning the plate when Catra cooks, and Catra always lets her see one of those rare, pleased smiles when she does. 

“Good. I don’t know what brand Weber’s trying to have you hawk this time but you can’t live off of that shit.” Catra says, in between her own bites. 

“It’s not just that, there’s a photoshoot coming up and she wants me looking my best. Nothing that’ll bloat me,” Adora argues, trying not to talk with her mouth full and failing. Catra passes her a glass of water. 

“You mean she wants you starving yourself for three days and not drinking for two. That’s crazy, Adora, you know that’s crazy.” Catra growls, stabbing her food viciously with a fork. Adora looks at herself and grabs a bit of flub where it peeked over her hip.

“It’s just for a bit. It’ll make my muscles stand out, and the shoot’s paying great.” Adora hates always having this argument with Catra, because she just doesn’t understand. Everything Ms. Weber has done has been to help Adora reach her full potential, and it worked! Her insta count was crazy, she can live off of sponsorships and deals now, and the only reason she didn’t end up pushing for Adora to try for Olympic gymnastics was that the opportunities for cross fit and modeling were so much better. They’ve been looking at a book deal! A book!

But that all took work. Catra just naturally looks great. She’s effortlessly strong and svelte and hot and smart and nothing Adora does can match what Catra can do just by _being._ It’s so hard to deal with, sometimes. She focuses on her food, frowning between bites. Catra, too, is silent for a while. 

“You look fine without all that, Adora. I don’t know how many more times I can tell you that.”

Adora looks over, startled at how quiet Catra’s voice was when she said that, how tired. Normally, she’s a prickly ball of malice and fun, teasing and poking and bullying Adora. Adora likes it that way, she likes pushing Catra back, teasing her too, making her smile. But this was something new. 

“I could look better, though,” Adora argues, but the fire is out of her voice. Catra smiles at her plate, shaking her head, her expression unreadable. 

“You know what I miss? I miss how you were before she got in your head. You used to kick other kids asses for picking on me for having weird eyes, you didn’t care that you had baby fat, you _loved yourself_ , Adora. You loved what you did because it was fun and it felt good, not because it could get you somewhere.”

Adora’s throat feels hollow, and she swallows hard. This would be so much easier if Catra was yelling at her, if they were fighting, but Catra’s just talking. So soft, so sad. 

“I want to be better, Catra. I… you can’t understand, you’ve always been strong. But it takes so much _effort_ for me. It’s not just her, it really isn’t…”

Catra’s laugh is sharp, bitter.

“You think I’m just naturally like this, Adora? You know I work out too, you’ve seen my routines, how can you just say…” Adora holds up her hand, and, miracle of miracles, Catra stops speaking. 

“It’s… it’s not about your body. I mean, it is a little. _Fuck,_ Catra, you won the genetic lottery, you were cute when we were kids and now you’re just gorgeous. But you’re strong. You can just.. Do what you want! You can walk away from stuff and not care! You can just be _Catra!_ ” Adora manages to keep her voice from cracking at that last part, but it's a close thing 

Catra is silent for a minute. Then she stands, and Adora’s stomach twists. She said too much, she insulted her, somehow. But instead of walking away, Catra holds out her hand for Adora’s plate, which Adora passes over after taking the hint when Catra’s hand makes a few grabbing motions in the air. Taking them into the kitchen, Adora can hear the water running, and Catra comes back with another glass of water, which she downs. The whole time, Adora hasn’t moved, has barely dared to breathe. 

Catra moves back onto the couch, but then, to Adora’s shock, Catra’s straddling her lap, face to face, her bewitching eyes half a foot away from Adora’s and her hands on Adora’s shoulders. Feeling her cheeks heat up again (which was another point against such pale, gross skin, it showed every blush) Adora quickly turns her head, looking away. Catra’s hands are off her shoulders, and on her cheeks now, and she moves Adora’s head to face her again.

“No. You’re not looking away for this,” she says, her slightly rough voice serious. Adora’s eyes widen, and she feels pinned in place. Her heart is pounding, and she can’t remember the last time Catra and her were this close. Probably back in their teens, before Adora became too awkward to deal with her friend hanging all over her. 

“I want you to know what makes me strong, because it’s not working out and it’s not supplements and it’s not Weber’s shitty advice and it sure as hell isn’t because I was born with a natural ability not to give a fuck.” Adora’s lips feel dry, and she licks them. Her blush deepens as Catra’s eyes flick down to watch that, before looking back into her own.

“I had to be strong because you weren’t able to be. Fuck, Adora, I tried _so often_ to get you out from under those adults we knew who just wanted to make you something they wanted, but you never stuck with me, you stuck with _them._ ” Adora stares, shocked into silence. She’d never heard any of this before. “I thought you were free when you moved off of floor routines, but no, you just let them find new ways to .. to fucking make you their project. So I left, and I wanted you to come with me, to take the fucking hint that it was toxic there, but you’d rather stay with them. With _her!_ And it’s _still happening!_ ” Tears are streaming down Catra’s cheeks and Adora wants to reach up, to clean them away, but she’s terrified any move would break this spell, would send Catra raging away to her room, or worse.

“I make sure she can’t starve you and I force you to rest but I can’t get her out of your head. I can’t be strong enough to make her stop making you think you’re UGLY, that you’re not WORTH IT unless you can gain more, sell more, be more. For HER!”

Adora’s chest aches. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.. I just wanted to be as good as you were.” she whispers. For you, she thinks. Catra’s laugh sounds broken through her tears.

“You’re so fucking stupid! You’ve always been good just because you’re _Adora._ You never needed to do _anything_ to make that better. You’re beautiful and tough and the funniest, sweetest, most idiotic person I know and I love you. I always have. So please, for once, listen to what _you_ want, not what she wants you to be! Because I can’t keep being strong like this forever. I can’t keep watching you kill yourself for some bitch’s dried up dreams that she’s projecting on you!”

It was a lot to take in, and Adora finds herself just staring into Catra’s eyes, memorizing every colour in them, as she processes that. 

“You.. love me?” she breathes out. Catra’s eyes widen, and her cheeks colour now as well, as if she only just realised herself she said that. Her expression changes to one Adora rarely gets to see, soft and fond.

“You idiot.”

Adora can’t stop smiling. “I love you too…” 

The kiss wasn’t perfect. Adora’s lips are dry and chapped and Catra’s tastes like salt. It’s over too fast as well, but when they pull back, a smile is on Catra’s face too, and she drags the palm of her hand over one cheek to help clear the tears. Adora’s rough thumb gently wipes her other cheek. They press a second, quick kiss to each other’s lips, and end up resting forehead to forehead. Catra’s eyes close.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about you, Adora. Or what they want for you. But for the record, you’re stupidly hot when you’re not obsessing over your BMI, and I personally would like you to consider a career in telling Weber to fuck off and focusing on yourself for once.” Catra says, her voice dry with humour. Adora snorts. 

“I’ll.. I’ll take that under consideration.” she says.

“Well, it’s a start.” Catra murmurs, tucking against her, her arms wrapping around Adora’s too wide shoulders. No, Adora needs to stop thinking like that, she realizes, catching herself. Because the words in her head didn’t sound like her own. They became her own, after so many years, but Catra was right. They were Weber’s. (“It can’t be helped that you’ve outgrown your body, and these shoulders are too wide, but it would be a pity to waste your potential, Adora…”)

How much of all this was what she wanted? When did she choose this life for herself? 

“Actually…” Adora gestures, and Catra shifts a little, letting her grab her phone. She types out a quick reply to the email from earlier, politely declining the contract for the moment. She turns her phone towards Catra, who arches an eyebrow, and then presses send. 

“Better. So if you don’t want that contract, what DO you want, princess?” Catra asks with a smirk.

“You. This. I’ll figure it out,” Adora says, pressing a kiss to her neck. Catra practically purrs. 

“I like that last part the best.” she murmurs into Adora’s shoulder. 

“Better than the part where I say I want you?” Adora asks with a smile.

“That’s pretty good, but I like that you’re figuring it out. You.” Catra brushes her lips on Adora’s jaw. “Can’t remember the last time you did that.”

Adora strokes a hand over Catra’s back, and ignores a buzzing starting from her phone. Catra sighs.

“You know she’s going to freak out if you don’t answer,” she points out in a low grumble. Adora takes a deep breath, and nods.

“She can wait. It’s not that important.” Adora says. She can feel Catra smile against her skin. She’ll deal with Ms. Weber later. Right now, she needs to be strong. And little by little, she hopes to become strong enough to choose her own future.


End file.
